Hunter Red
by Zhanael
Summary: A look into the lives of a pair of Hunter twins, their Smoker companion, and their Witch sister.  Companion piece to "From the Desk."  Rating subject to change.
1. On the Hunt

_Author's Note: Here we have the first chapter of _Hunter Red_! This one is the companion piece to my first L4D fic, _From the Desk_, telling that story from not long after the Infection to the end of _FtD._ It was inspired by the novel _Raptor Red_, a dramatization of evolutionary theories presented by leading paleontologist Dr. Robert T. Bakker upon the discovery of the _Utahraptor_. I've attempted to recreate the style he used._

_Thanks to all of my readers for your support and reviews! I really hope you all enjoy this one as much as you had _From the Desk._ To those new to my fics, welcome! I encourage you to read _From the Desk_ as well. And finally, let me know what you think! Thank you again, and enjoy!_

_EDIT: Rewritten for length and detail._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter One**_

_Mid-October_

A hooded head appears over the edge of a four-story building, the tallest of the line of storefronts along the block, its face hidden in shadow. The head turns back and forth slowly, as though surveying the brick and mortar buildings. It belongs to a male Hunter, the humanoid predator spawned by the virus that's destroying the world. He crouches, and begins to creep along the edge of the building, following it along the street. He moves on all fours, silent as the night around him. He's following a particular scent-trail that's less than a day old, and getting stronger. It was made by humans, both female; the fear in their scents is what entices him.

The Hunter raises his face to the wind and sniffs the air. There—he catches the scent that is his kind, and his blood. His female twin is on the opposite side of the street, stalking the humans, too. She's just as silent as he is, and for the same reasons; both of them had learned early on that the scent of metal and fire means that they can be hurt from a distance, and that scent is a part of the trail they follow. The twins might have left them alone in favor of safer prey, but there are fewer and fewer humans in this city with each day; this is likely to be the only hunt they'll have for a while, so they're willing to take the chance.

He picks up a scent-message from his sister. _I chase soon_, her pheromones say, and he hunches low, his belly pressed to the stone beneath him. He breathes in slowly and deeply, letting the air draw every scent particle into his virus-enhanced nose. The scent of their prey is fresh now, and he can hear the low voices of two human women as they mutter to each other. He can't understand them anymore; as with any Infected, his ability to communicate verbally was destroyed when he succumbed to the virus. But that doesn't matter to him; what matters is that they make it easy to track them.

Gathering his legs beneath him, he balances his weight and pauses long enough to choose his target. There's a balcony thirty feet away on a building adjacent to the one on which he's crouched; it's not very large, but it's big enough for him, and the rails won't get in his way. The human girls are ten feet away from it, approaching the alley between buildings. He makes the leap, his powerful legs launching him those thirty feet across to his new perch. He doesn't stop there, though; as soon as his weight is stable on the balcony, he launches himself straight upward again, with only a slight angle to bring him onto the roof of that building.

He's close now; he can smell his sister directly opposite his position on the other side of the street. His leg muscles and his claws start to twitch in anticipation. If he had a tail, it would be whipping around in excitement. The humans have no idea the two Hunters are stalking them; even with the metal fire, it'll only take one leap to bring them down.

"RAAAAAAIIIII!" The Hunter can't help himself. He sounds the chase, and his cry is answered by his sister. Her voice is a little higher than his; he has a faint memory that that difference in timbre had been the only way to tell them apart. Certainly, the humans know there are two predators after them; they open fire, forcing the twins to back away from the edges of the roof. Thankfully, the humans both have terrible aim; all their shots go wide, completely missing the twins. With both Hunters out of their sight, the humans start to run down the alleyway. It's too dark for them to see the trap, but the Hunters know. They give chase, but they follow at a more leisurely pace. They can smell the chrome and rubber of a massive delivery van blocking the way; there's nowhere for the humans to run once they find that obstacle. Let the humans tire themselves out trying to outrun death.

The alley isn't very long, but it's long enough that by the time the two girls reach the blockade, it's too late to turn back. The Hunters sense their chance. The male crouches low, and gathers his legs under him. He takes in a deep breath to pinpoint the sources of the humans' scents; his target is the closest to him, two stories below and five feet across. He expels his breath in a killing roar distinct to his species, stretches out his claws, and leaps. Despite being blind, his aim is impeccable; his prey has only a bare second to spin around before his weight slams her to the ground. Immediately, he hooks his legs around her, holding him steady as he straddles her and immobilizing her arms. His mouth waters as her scent overwhelms him.

He hears a second bodily impact a few inches away, and his sister yells her triumph. Then both of the Hunters begin to tear into their victims with their claws, sending scraps of cloth and flesh flying. The humans try to struggle, but the virus has made the Hunters too strong to throw off; once they have their victims pinned, Hunters are impossible to remove from below. A strong shove from the side could dislodge them, but these two partners were alone; there's no rescue for them. In another few moments, it's over. The humans stop moving; their attackers have torn out their hearts.

The heart is the twins' favorite morsel. It's the first thing they devour from their prey. They do so now, rumbling throaty sounds of satisfaction between each swallow. This was a good hunt; neither of the Hunters had been harmed, and the kills were clean and quick. There's enough meat here to keep them fed for a few days, at least—or as long as they could defend their kills from the scavengers. They're in a good mood.

When he finishes feeding, the male Hunter leans back on his haunches to clean the blood from his claws. His sister keeps eating; she has the habit of stuffing herself full and leaving him to keep watch for rivals and scavengers. That's fine with him; she doesn't bully him when she's asleep. He turns his face to her, as though watching her as she continues to gorge herself.

If he had eyes, he would be admiring her. His instincts won't let him accept courtship advances from his sister, even if she were to try, but he knows on some level that she'll one day make some other Hunter a fine mate—and he will, too. They're both of them prime examples of Hunter beauty; their muscles are well-toned, their claws well-sharpened. Their teeth are strong, and their noses are flawless. They even have superb control over their voices; their lowest range can reverberate almost silently, and their highest can echo for several blocks. If sight factored into the criteria of beauty, they'd still score well; they both sport the same maroon and tawny fur that's enough to hide them from their prey, but also help them stand out to other Infected.

He can't form wholly coherent thoughts anymore, not since he was Infected, but he does form almost verbal concepts. Translated to human language, he's thinking, _She's a good partner and a good hunter. We make a good team. Very glad to have her…even if she keeps picking on me._

Finally, the female finishes gorging and sits back to clean her claws, too. The male moves from his kill to sit next to her and rub his head against hers, giving her an affectionate purr. The gesture is returned, and she even turns her head to nip at his cheek, eliciting a squawk from him. He swats at her, initiating a short wrestling session, in which she throws herself at him, he catches her, and they roll about on the ground for several minutes. It's mostly to burn off extra energy, so that they can sleep and digest.

When they're finally ready, they settle against the van. The male lies horizontally against the vehicle, his back against the tire. The female curls up with her back against him, her limbs tucked in against her body. He nuzzles her head again, and she nuzzles back before laying her head on his outer thigh. After a few minutes, he hears her snoring.

He takes a whiff of the air. There's a scent on the breeze that's familiar. It smells of smoke and leather and blood. He knows it's safe to relax now; the owner of that scent wouldn't come close if there had been competition. With that reassurance, he lets himself drift into slumber, just as he hears the wheezing, and the tongue shooting out toward one of their carcasses.


	2. Hunters Don't Charge For Food

_**Chapter Two**_

The male Hunter doesn't remember his full name.

As soon as the virus entered his body through the saliva from his sister's bite, two weeks ago, it began to change him. It ate away at his brain until he could no longer be considered to possess human intelligence. However, it hadn't destroyed _all_ of his brain, and in fact retained a portion of his most basic memory. So he remembers a name that he'd been called every day of his life; he remembers the names of his sisters, and their constant companion since youth. He'll never recall the names on the pieces of paper that certified their births seventeen, twenty-three, forty-seven years ago; he can only remember those names which had been hardwired into the portion of his brain that the virus didn't touch.

His name is Chris, and his twin is Lexi.

Ever since he succumbed to the virus, Chris could distinguish between "my kind" and "not my kind." His first breath after Infection carried the scents of those around him through his enhanced nose into his enlarged olfactory chambers just behind his ruined eyes, where they were hardwired into his restructured brain. All Infected became "my kind;" the virus gave its victims a particular scent that he shared. He and his twin were filed away as "my kind—Hunter;" anyone to share his genes became "one half of myself." Animals and unInfected became "not my kind."

When he wakes again, it's daylight, and Chris can smell the scent of "my kind." Aside from his twin's scent, there are two others that are fresh. One is familiar, the scent of smoke, leather and blood that was present when he went to sleep. It belongs to a male Smoker; Chris knows his name, too.

Blake has been the twins' constant companion since Infection. He watches over them, warning them of danger, and even leading them to shelter or food or aiding in a difficult kill. In exchange, the twins protect him and leave him portions of their kills. Chris considers him a part of their small pack, and treats him as such.

But the second scent is unfamiliar; "my kind," but neither Hunter, Smoker nor "one half of myself." Chris is instantly awake, and he sits up quickly. Lexi wakes with his movement, growling at being disturbed. But a second later, she registers the strange scent, too, and both of the twins fall into defensive crouches. Above them, where Chris had smelled him the night before, Blake wheezes out a warning.

The twins pull in deep breaths through their noses, analyzing the scent further. It belongs to a male Charger, those raging bulls of the Infected. He's coming closer, and moments later, he appears at the mouth of the alley. The twins can't see him, of course, but they know he's there as well as Blake does. But the Smoker still sounds a warning anyway, mostly for the Charger's benefit; the two Hunters answer him with shrieks.

The Charger is intrigued. He can't really smell very well since the Infection took his nose, but he can still pick up the scent of decay—the twins' kills. His eyesight is just as dim (in fact, only his sense of touch was unaffected by the virus), but he can just barely see the two ravaged corpses at the end of the alley. He's ravenously hungry; he hasn't had a decent meal in a day or two. The small animals that infest the city now are too hard for him to catch, and the place is practically devoid of humanity. He's had some success in scavenging, however.

Hunters don't concern the Charger. He's large for his strain, almost the size of a Tank, and his size gives him confidence. Hunger gives him motivation, and he decides that he'll steal his next meal. He completely ignores the Smoker; that one's no match for him, too fragile and too slow to face him directly. Once he drives off the Hunters, he'll be able to smash the two corpses down to a pulp that he can swallow.

The Charger brings up his massive, armored arm and charges with a howl. The twins leap away quickly with angry cries, clinging to the brick of the buildings that form the alleyway. They snarl furiously at him, but he ignores them and turns to the mangled bodies. Just as he's about to scoop one up to pummel, he finds himself face-down on the ground; his right leg had been pulled out from under him.

He's helpless on the ground. He can get himself back up, of course, but the lopsidedness of his body makes the use of his arm awkward on his back and especially on his front. As soon as he's down, the twins leap onto his back, but they're light enough that he's able to heave himself back onto his feet again. He feels their claws tearing into him, ripping at him like they did their prey the night before. He screams, trying to shrug them off or at least dislodge them. Then he swings his arm around, trying to reach over his head to pull the two Hunters off—but it's too big, and he misses them completely.

With a growl, the Charger flings himself backwards, hoping to crush the twins against the wall with his weight. But they release him and drop off just before impact; he slams his bare and injured back against the brick wall, and the pain flares into agony. He howls, and starts swinging wildly with his massive arm, flailing with the hopes that he might chance to hit one of them. But they're too smart; they back away, out of his reach. He chances a glace upwards, at the wall opposite the one on which he now leans, and sees the Smoker bracing himself on the edge.

The Charger thinks for a moment that this Smoker is a strange-looking one. There is much of him that is white, including the flat sail on his head, shielding his single eye and at least a portion of the tumors typical of the strain. But his legs and belly are blue like the sky, and his feet are a shiny brown and click on the brick and concrete like they were rock or metal. Yet he's unmistakably a Smoker—the smoky spore cloud that follows them everywhere is present with him, too, and he definitely has the tongue.

Then the tongue shoots out again, and wraps around the Charger's ankle. With a powerful yank, the Smoker brings down the Charger again, this time on his back. The renewed agony stuns him for a moment, along with the heavy impact. It's all the twins need. They pounce again from both sides, and this time, they don't hold back. In seconds, the Charger lays dead, his throat and his heart torn out.

Chris cuts the heart in half, and nudges one of those halves toward his sister. Lexi takes it, and they happily feed. Behind them, Blake jumps to the ground, coughing—though he manages to give the sound a smug tone. Knowing that Blake isn't able to do so for himself, Chris tears open the Charger's belly, exposing the steaming, tender organs. The Smoker starts to feed as well, using his tongue to bring the intestines to his mouth like an elephant's trunk. He doesn't chew—his tongue prevents him from doing so; the only thing he really can do with his teeth is dice the flesh into manageable hunks. But to make up for that, his body produces more stomach acid (and stomach lining to protect the rest of him) to quickly dissolve his food.

With their hunger sated, the twins start wrestling again. Blake moves to slump against a wall, wheezing out a satisfied noise. He watches the twins play, kicking them when they get too close. They snap at him in return, but they don't include him; he's too tall and not as rambunctious. So as they chase each other around the alley, snarling and snapping and laughing, he keeps a careful eye out, watching for other predators.

They stay in that alley for a few days. It's a good spot, well enough out of the way that they don't attract too many scavengers that they can't defend against. But then their food runs low; all that's left of the two girls are their clothing and weapons, and all that's left of the Charger is the armored arm, too tough for any of them to crack. When nothing edible is left, the three of them move on.

They head north. Blake can see light in the sky at night in that direction; he knows that to mean humanity. The twins can smell the humans, too. But Infected numbers are lower, so hunting there will be more successful. They won't get too close; too many humans mean trouble, as any wild animal knows. But there is always a loner, or one sick or injured, and that always makes for a quick kill. The three Infected know better than to count on always making a kill from the fringes, but they're hopeful.

As they wander farther from where they'd come, barricades are erected behind them. They aren't aware of those barricades, but they do notice the jets flying overhead and the staccato explosions that pierce the silence of the city over the course of the next few days. It makes them nervous, and their pace picks up. In another day or two, they've settled in a ruined, burned out building that still offers some form of shelter, like the roots of a great, fallen tree. After one more day, when the bombings have stopped and the jets have disappeared, they resume the hunt.

* * *

_Author's Note: Oi, that took longer than I'd wanted it to. Oh well._

So I have a question for you folks! Would you like to see a comic version of From the Desk/Hunter Red?_ Keep in mind, the comic will be drawn by me (samples linked in my profile) as practice, between writing on this and _Eredar's Redemption_, so it won't be very quick, and it'll be posted on my DeviantArt account. Feel free to answer in the reviews!_


	3. Winter Wonderland

_**Chapter Three**_

_November_

Chris is shivering slightly when he wakes mid-morning, and it's a new sensation for him. He starts to full wakefulness, squawking, and grips at the ground with his claws in order to steady himself. But the ground gives way, and is much colder and wetter than he remembers it being the day before. This is a New Thing, and to any wild animal, a New Thing is often something to fear. In fact, Chris is already growing nervous, and he growls at the cold, wet ground.

His nose tells him that there's a lot of water around. But he's confused; not only is he _not_ drowning, but the water's scent has a more…_solid_ property to it. He lowers himself almost flat on his belly, and his face meets the strange, transformed surface beneath him. He can still breathe, but the water scent is especially strong. When he lifts his head, he can feel chill spots all over his face, even in his empty eye sockets. When he shakes his head vigorously, the spots disappear, leaving only lingering moisture.

The realization dawns on him slowly. _Solid water…everywhere. All over. Harmless, but…_cold!

He paws at the solid water beneath him, snorting. At least, he figures, his pack won't go thirsty.

His sister's voice catches his attention. He sniffs the air again, this time to find her scent. She's about a block away and practically exuding excitement. His curiosity is piqued, especially as the noises she's making are the same play-sounds she makes with him. Another breath tells him that she's not alone; a small pack of three Jockeys are with her. Their voices don't carry as well as Lexi's, but traces of their constant laughter drifts to his ears on the mild breeze.

Chris stands and picks his tentative way through the solid water. He can feel it soaking into his fur and settling onto his skin. Although uncomfortable, he isn't suffering as a human might; the cold merely annoys him, and he's shaking the stuff off of his legs every time he lifts them to take a step. It slows him down, and the result, by the time he reaches Lexi and the Jockey pack, is his darkening mood.

Though the small, hunched Infected are always laughing, they have the same excitement as Lexi in their tones, and their voices are higher in pitch than low, killing cackles Chris often hears from the strain. The sound annoys him even more, and when one of them approaches him to greet him, he growls and hisses warningly. The Jockey snickers and backs away, moving to rejoin his fellows.

Suddenly, Chris is slammed into the cold wet, surprising another squawk out of him. Lexi's pinned him to the ground, and more of the water soaks through to his skin. This serves to anger him further, and he snarls and claws at her, fighting to get his strong legs between them to kick her off. She, however, snarls at him to quiet him, and takes his wrist in her jaws firmly. She isn't breaking the skin, but he can't free himself without pain.

As such, he's forced to creep along with her—reluctantly—as she drags him a few feet. When they halt, he can sense that they're on the edge of some precipice. It's a hill, he surmises, but a small one and one covered in the solid water. Lexi releases him, but just as he's about to creep off again, grumbling, she pounces on him again.

Their momentum carries them over the side of the hill. Chris can feel the solid water beneath him as they—fall? No, it's not falling, but the adrenaline rushes through him and the air flies past him as though he had pounced something himself. It's a controlled fall, with all the excitement of a real pounce, but without the hard impact of landing. Instead, he and Lexi roll to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and his heart is pounding.

He likes it. No—he _loves_ it.

The twins spend the rest of the day playing on that hill with the Jockey pack. The smaller Infected sometimes steal rides on the backs of the Hunters; the first time one hops onto Chris, he considers rolling over and snapping at it. But his sister doesn't seem to mind; in fact, she lays herself flat on her belly as she and her passenger fly down the hill. Chris instead follows suit, and finds that it's just as fun with or without a Jockey riding him.

Above the raucous, Blake stands on a rooftop, watching the Hunters and Jockeys. He's a little confused as to their behavior. None of them ever had a real childhood (that they can recall), but he still thinks they're acting like they're pups. He can't understand what's come over them, and after spending a few minutes trying to figure out why they're acting so strange, he gives up and limps off to find some food. It's obvious to him he's not getting anything out of the Hunters today.

His confusion doesn't help his mood. He had woken covered in the solid white water. While most of the dirt and blood had been washed away when he managed to brush himself off, the moisture stayed. He hates getting wet; just as humidity suppresses wood-smoke, so too does water prevent him from giving off as much of his own organic smoke. He often feels dizzy and sick when he's wet, and his coughing worsens. That's how he's been feeling all day, which has put him in a terrible mood.

By sundown, the Jockeys move on. Blake and the Hunters settle in an alley several blocks from a large wall that towers over most of the buildings in that part of the city. The twins curl in together, and Blake slumps against a dumpster nearby. Yet just as they start to drift off, a startlingly familiar scent shoots them all back to full wakefulness.

Chris knows he's never smelled it before. He has no conscious memory of ever encountering it before. But there's an alarm going off deep in his brain, not of fear, but of urgency. This scent is important. It comes from someone that is "half of me." Beside him, Lexi starts making a soft keening sound at the back of her throat; she feels the same way he does. Even Blake's anxious, the smoke pouring from him as much as it can.

Lexi gets up and starts off in the direction of the scent. She doesn't seem concerned about the solid water, and truth be told, neither is Chris. He follows after her, with Blake bringing up the rear. They take to the rooftops to move faster, where the water isn't so deep. As they approach the source of the scent, they can hear sobbing; it's faint at first, but the closer they get, the louder, until the sound is echoing around the buildings.

Chris knows the strain of Infection; he's encountered a Witch or two in the past month. They're rare, and only the hulking Tanks have nothing to fear from them. But this one is different from the others.

This is Chris and Lexi's sister.

They have no conscious memory of her. Neither Chris nor Lexi have encountered her since "waking" as Hunters. But deep in their most basic of memory, they remember that they have a younger sister, who had been Infected with them. They remember her name: Caroline. And now, they know that she's below them, wandering in the empty street, Infected as they are.

Lexi, the bolder twin, jumps down from their perch above the Witch. Caroline doesn't stop moving, but her sobs fade to growls. Lexi lets out a soft, submissive whine, crouching to make herself seem smaller—but doesn't move out of Caroline's path. The Witch finally stops, lowering her foot-long claws from her tear-stained face and revealing her blazing red eyes. Those eyes glow with a bioluminescence that none of the other Infected hold. The sight is lost on Lexi, but the confusion and anger tinted with sorrow, which those eyes hold, isn't.

Lexi whines again, and then Chris jumps down to join her, making the same sound. Caroline's growling grows louder, and she starts to spread her arms in a full threat display. But she stops about midway, her growling cutting off, as she suddenly recognizes the Hunters in front of her. She can smell them, too, though her olfactories aren't as strong as theirs; she recognizes their scents just as they recognize hers. Her eyes dart between the twins and her arms slowly lower.

"Abugu?" She tries to speak, but though her brain can work with vague words—better even than the twins and Blake—she has trouble actually forming them. But the twins know what she means—at the very least, they can hear and smell the hopeful curiosity in her voice and her manner. They both give joyful cries, and Lexi pounces on her sister, bathing the Witch's face with her tongue like a dog. Caroline screams, but her tone holds only an ever-present undertone of mourning; instead, the scream is of delight, and her deadly claws curl delicately around Lexi's body in a tight hug.

Seeing that Caroline isn't hostile, Blake jumps down, too. Like the twins, he has no conscious memory of her. Unlike the twins, he doesn't think he has any reason to know her—but then again, it's the same with the twins. None of the three are blood relations to the Smoker, but there's a deep sense of familiarity about them that's kept him with the twins since their first moments as Infected. Now that sense extends to Caroline; he's confused, but he doesn't think too hard on it, just as he's stopped thinking about how he knows the twins. It gives him a headache.

The four of them return to where Blake and the twins had started to settle for the night. The Smoker returns to his spot against the dumpster, but the twins curl up around Caroline. The Witch has sunk to her knees, starting to cry softly, but there's no _real_ sadness in her sobs, or even tears; they're merely reflex, a built-in feature of her Infection strain. The Hunters drift to sleep with her gentle rocking, and Blake closes his eye to doze to her sniffling.

* * *

**_Author's Notes_****:**_ And here we have HR3! I apologize profusely for the amount of time it's taken me, despite promises I've made. Hopefully, I won't be as terrible with future updates._

_I'm thinking that the pack here will start meeting the lovely Garnet here fairly soon. Keep an eye out!  
_


End file.
